


Time To Kill

by birb_from_the_ashes



Category: No Fandom, Original Work
Genre: F/F, F/M, M/M, Multi, Other
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-10-21
Updated: 2018-10-23
Packaged: 2019-08-05 02:24:21
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death, Rape/Non-Con, Underage
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,448
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16358882
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/birb_from_the_ashes/pseuds/birb_from_the_ashes
Summary: Original work unaffiliated with any fandoms that I've been working on for a while now. About a non-binary character, Day, who can stop time by snapping. Of course, craziness ensues.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Hope y'all like it!

I huddle under the hood of the black raincoat she gave me, the rain biting my cheeks and nose. The raincoat is old; it’s moth-bitten and worn, so it does little to keep the rain off of me, but it's better than nothing. I look at my father’s watch, the only thing I have of his and the only clue I have as to who he might be. Shit. I'm late. I look around to make sure no one’s watching. I snap to stop time and walk up to the address Jeffery gave me.

I look up at the restaurant in front of me. A cockroach scurries over the B in the neon “Restaurant & Bar” sign, telling me immediately what kind of restaurant this is, and how I’m going to be treated here, by both the customers and the staff. I adjust my bra, making my breasts look fuller, restart time, and step inside.

Immediately, I am overwhelmed with the scent of alcohol, cigarette smoke, and weed. Great. I see someone my age behind the bar and raise my eyebrows in questioning. I walk towards him.

“I have an interview here?” I say, almost like it's a question, even though it's not.

“Day?” he asks me.

“Yup,” I reply, “that's me”.

“Right this way,” he motions me behind the bar and walks me through the kitchen to a back office. He keeps his head down the whole time. He mumbles, too. But not in a hard-to-hear way. It's more like a what-I-say-doesn't-matter-and-no-one-wants-me-to-speak way. I almost want to feel sorry for him, although I'm not sure why, and I’m weary that this could be an act and that he’ll come on to me if I let myself feel bad for him.

“You’ve got the ‘right this way’ thing pretty much down. Must get a lot of practice, huh?” I say, trying to break the silence.

He gives me a timid look and says, “Um, actually…” he trails off, pointing to a sign by the door that says “Seat your own damn self”. I'm officially embarrassed. God, what an idiot I must be if I can't even read the fucking sign. 

He leads me around the bar and into the kitchen, past the dirty and rusted stoves and ovens, past the sinks practically crawling with flies, and into a room labeled “Manager”. Just before he knocks, he catches my eyes and gives me the most sincere look of sympathy I've ever seen, and for a split second, I consider backing out, but then he takes a breath, knocks, and I am reminded of the people I need to do this for. And as the door swings open and I'm greeted by a man with a large beer gut who looks only 30 or so, I force a smile onto my face. He also smiles, but something’s off about it. Predatory. And his eyes fail to stay on mine. Actually, that wording suggests that he’s even trying to make eye contact in the first place. He clearly is not. I give a cough that’s supposed to sound authoritative and confident, but instead sounds meek and vulnerable. Small. I shrink under his gaze, despite my best wishes to  _ not _ match my cough.

He takes a swig from his flask and clears his throat. “So, Sexy, when can you start?”

I consider then saying “never, asshole,” and walking away but then I think of Carmen, of my mother who can hardly stand, much less get a job to support herself, of how close I was to getting caught last time I stole from the corner market. I have to do this.

“I have school until 2:30 and it will take me half an hour to walk here, so how’s 3:00 tomorrow?” I lied about what time school gets out, but I figure tomorrow I’ll stop time and get here without the horrid rain.

He nods slowly as if considering his options. He can't have very many girls eager to be overly sexualized vying for this position. I mean, not that I’m a girl, but…

“Great. See you then, sweetheart,” he says finally, and I breathe a sigh of relief.

“You have my number, so text me if you need anything,” I say, not sure why I invited him to do this.

“I most  _ definitely  _ will,” he says, shutting the door behind me. I breathe a sigh of relief, before turning and running head first into the boy from earlier.

“Oh, I am so sorry!” I exclaim, jumping back quickly. I am about to apologize more when I realize “Were you standing outside the door just now?” He flinches in response. “I'm sorry,” I say, “ I didn't mean to--”

“No, I wasn't standing outside the--okay yeah I was but he’s not a nice guy and i just like to make sure people are safe, and…” he trails off and shrinks away from me as if apologizing for his presence.

“I can take care of myself,” I snap without thinking, but he shrinks away even further and I immediately feel guilty. “I'm sorry,” I start again, more softly, “that’s very kind of you. What’s your name?” He flinches immediately, like I just asked him to kill everyone he’s ever cared about.

“Jake,” he responds timidly, “What’s yours?” I laugh for a second at the circumstances of the situation before responding.

“Doesn't matter. As far as he's concerned,” I point my thumb in the direction of the door, “my name is Sexy, so…” This surprises a laugh out of Jake and the sound is light and high-pitched, and sounds a little giggly. He seems just as surprised by his laugh as I am, and he covers his mouth as if embarrassed.

“Well,” I say, unsure of how to figure him out, “I best get going.”

“Yes, of course,” he says quickly, as if he is used to people being driven away by him.

“I guess I’ll see you tomorrow, Jake,” and he flinches again both when I tell him I’ll see him and when I say his name.

“You took the job?” he asks, confused.

“Yeah, of course I did. I need it...well, bye bye!” I shout as I walk out the front door of my new job.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter's kind of explain-y, but better stuff is coming, I promise!

I have—how do I say this? I have an unusual ability, and it's actually pretty cool. I can stop time. By snapping. If I snap with one hand only, I can stop time and move things around at a speed that seems normal to me and quicker than anyone else can blink. When I snap with one hand, the entire world around me stops. Clocks stop, people stop, everything; it all just stops. Except me. When I snap with both hands at once, _that's_ where it gets confusing. I can go, like, _through_ things and shit. It's like—I guess it's like I'm so far removed from time, that time has no effect on me. I don't get hungry, I don't get tired or thirsty, nothing that happens over time affects me. And I can have no effect on anything else in the world. Because even things that are instantaneous take time. There could be hours for me, _days_ even, inside each millisecond that you experience. I guess, when I snap with one hand I stop time, but when I snap with both hands, there _is_ no more time. It just ceases to exist.

I don't know why I have this ability. Or how. I just do. I learned to snap when I was like five and discovered this. I tried to tell my teachers and my mom, but my teachers laughed and my mom just said “Don't ever lie to me again, you little shit,” so I guess that means no one knows but me. I haven't even told my girlfriend of two years. And I tell her everything. I've even told her everything I know about my dad, which, to be fair, isn't all that much.

I've asked my mom about who he is several times. She just grunts and takes a swig of whatever alcoholic beverage was on sale at the store that day. When I was little, though, she used to tell me stories about him. How he cheated on her and how he left her for dead before I was even born, while she was pregnant. Of course, I'm not sure I believe her pretty much ever, because she lies a lot, and her drunken mind plays a lot of tricks on her, but I'm sure that she’s telling the truth when she says that my dad’s an asshole. What other kind of man abandons his pregnant girlfriend, never choosing to reach out to his child?

I have his watch, though. I'm not sure why I wear it, if I know what an all-around bad person he is. I guess I wear it as a reminder of what I've been through. Of what others have put me through.

I am shaken from my thoughts by a rather loud and high-pitched barking sound as I unlock the apartment door. I am greeted excitedly by the source of the noise: a small, dirty, sopping wet golden retriever puppy. Wearing a bow-tie as a collar.

“What the hell is that?” I ask my girlfriend, glaring at the puppy.

“A dog,” Carmen answers simply.

“I can see that, thanks. What I mean is why do you have the dog and what the hell is it doing here,” I clarify.

“Oh. Well it was cold and rainy and he just looked so alone, so I figured...why not?”

“Carmen, we cannot have a dog. For one thing, the building doesn't allow them, and for another, we can't afford it.” Her face falls in disappointment at my words, and she begins making her way toward me.

“Please,” she whispers, leaning in for a kiss.

“I must seem so pathetic…” I murmur against her lips before giving in, “Fine, you can keep the damn dog. But if that thing gets sick, we’re not taking it to the vet or anything.”

“Yes!” she shouts, “I mean, thank you. The dog is very grateful,” and as if listening to our conversation, the dog runs toward me and tries to jump into my arms. He’s far too small though, so he eventually gives up in favor of licking my shin.

“One condition,” I say, and she turns her head toward me, “He needs a name.”

“Perfect. I'm thinking Alfred.”

I breathe a surprised laugh, “you cannot name our dog Alfred.”

“Oh, so he’s _our_ dog now? Come here, Alfred!”

“Fine, Alfred it is.”

 

* * *

 

“You heading out?” Carmen asks after we do homework for a while.

“Yeah, I gotta put in an appearance at Mom’s. Maybe give her some money for pizza. Face my demons, the whole shebang.”

“Tell Roxy I say to fuck off if she comes at you,” Carmen says lovingly, “Also, you just unironically used the word ‘shebang’ and I love you for it.”

“I’ll tell her you say _hi_ , and if that’s the only reason you love me, you must be crazy.”

“Or you’re just hella sexy,” she smirks.

“Mmmm, probably it's the ‘shebang’ thing,” I lean in for a kiss and walk toward the door. “Bye!” I shout, as I close and lock the door behind me and head down the six flights of stairs that have been required of Carmen’s family and me since the elevator broke five years ago. I walk into the parking garage until I get to Building B, where my mother’s apartment is.

Building B is a little nicer, though not by much, than Building C where Carmen’s family and I live. The apartment manager had the elevator fixed in Building B seven months ago, almost half a year after I moved out. Carmen likes to joke that if I had stuck it out a little longer, I would have a working elevator, but I never use it anyway. I hate elevators and love the cardio I get from walking up stairs. That last part is a lie and mostly I just really hate elevators. So I'm left to walk the ten flights of stairs, like I used to do every day of my life, but now only do a few times a week.

As I reach her door, I take a deep breath and slowly release it. Here’s the thing: Mom doesn't exactly know I moved out. She just hasn't noticed, and I haven't told her. So I stand uselessly outside the door, unable to put the key in the lock for quite some time. Finally, I work up the courage to open the door.

I am greeted, before the door is even fully open, by the sound of loud 80’s music and the overwhelming stench of booze and sex. I wonder briefly how she can be having so much sex when she never leaves the house, but decide it's easier not to question it. As I open the door the rest of the way, I hear a male voice I only vaguely recognize shout “Care package!” and decide again that it’s best not to question it.

“Day?” My mother’s vulnerable-sounding voice emanates from somewhere under the once-white blanket on the pull-out bed in the living room.

“Yes?” I respond, confused. Most of the time when there’s sex involved, she doesn't acknowledge me.

“Is there a package by the door?”

“Yeah,” I say, knowing full well what’s in it. I pick it up.

“Could you—?”

“Already bringing it in,” I reply, setting it down just inside the door.

“Good girl,” she says, knowing without even looking at me that I'm flinching but not bothering to apologize for the misgendering. “Now go, shoo. I'm having sex.”

I don't hesitate; I leave two twenties on top of the box by the door and skedaddle, shutting the door loudly behind me before sliding my back down the door until I'm sitting in the hallway. I close my eyes, refusing to allow tears to make an appearance in them. I open my eyes as I stand up, and then I just start running. I run all the way down the stairs to the parking garage and then I run across the parking garage and I don't stop running until I'm at the door to Carmen’s apartment. I unlock it quickly, my vision becoming ever more blurry, and sprint past a concerned-looking Carmen and into the bathroom, where I turn on the shower and get in fully clothed. It’s not until I'm soaking wet and sure that the noise will be drowned out by the shower that I allow myself to finally cry.


End file.
